


Small Bump - Ed Sheeran one-shot

by 1Derfulfanfictions



Category: Ed Sheeran (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Derfulfanfictions/pseuds/1Derfulfanfictions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small bump. The title pretty much says it all. Warnings: miscarriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Bump - Ed Sheeran one-shot

The pain. The pain was excruciating. I wasn’t even aware it was possible for muscles of the human body to contract that tightly. Ed was by my side, his hand in mine. I was aware of people around my feet, but unaware of who or how many. My eyelids were shut, and I was squeezing his hand with all the strength I could muster. I could feel myself involuntarily holding my breath, and try as I might, I couldn’t get precious oxygen in or out. It was almost as though if I looked, or breathed, I would come completely undone, and possibly die. At least that’s how it felt. Voices bounced off the walls of the stark room, but I couldn’t comprehend a word being said. And as quickly as it started, it stopped. I opened my eyes, seeing only bright lights and white stars - a side affect of the pain or having my eyes closed so hard, I wasn’t entirely sure. “It’s gonna be fine, you’re both gonna be fine,” Ed whispered in my ear, with an urgency I had never heard. I looked up at him, trying to focus. He was still in his pajamas, his ginger hair disheveled. But what shocked me most was his general colour, or lack thereof. Ed had always been pale, there was no denying that. But what little colour he did have was completely gone. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, and the wrinkles around his eyes I only saw in times of stress stuck out like a sore thumb. There was no doubt about where I was - a hospital. But why? What happened? What was going on? I opened my mouth to ask Ed precisely those questions, but before I could get a single syllable out, I found myself in the black and white abyss of the pain again. And then it hit me, a rudimentary slap in the face. My hands flew to my stomach, startling everyone around me. My baby. Our baby. What the fuck? There was a sharp stinging in the top of my left hand as the cannula tubes strained against my sudden movement. My eyes were wide open now, and for the first time I could see. The small bump of my pregnancy was barely visible under the multitude of monitors running across my stomach. Other than Eds shirt gathered under my breasts, I was completely naked. And there was blood, lots of it. It took me a moment to realise it clearly belonged to me. There was a team of at least 6 medical professionals dressed in blue scrubs racing around the tiny room, yelling medical jargon at each other, beyond my comprehension. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. “ED, WHAT’S HAPPENING? WHAT’S WRONG WITH LJ?” LJ was the nickname we had given bub the day we’d found out we were expecting.   
"Mrs Sheeran, you need to calm down. We’re doing everything we can right now to stop your labour and save your baby. But you need to calm down. Your stressing isn’t helping either of you." For the first time, I noticed our OBGYN, Dr Scott. I nodded as tears spilled down my cheeks. My eyes found Eds again, and now it all made sense. "I’m sorry, this is all my fault," I sobbed. Ed placed one hand on each side of my face. He hands were cold and clamy, and I could feel him shaking or shivering, I’m not sure which. "Don’t, please. I’M sorry. You’re both going to be fine." His eyes pleaded with mine, and I just nodded. "Stay strong, LJ needs us, and we need you". I still had no idea what had occurred or how I’d come to be here. The last thing I remember is getting up off the couch for water while Ed put on a DVD. 

I don’t remember falling asleep. I wasn’t entirely sure I had, voluntarily. But the soft opening and closing of a door, the whirl and beeping of machines and hushed voices brought me out of my slumber. I couldn’t understand them at first. I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like lead. Instead I shallowed my breathing, trying to take in the words. “I’m sorry Edward, I really am. Unfortunately these things do happen sometimes, and we can’t always tell why. From what we can tell, there’s nothing physiologically wrong with her, and w-“  
"Her is my wife you’re talking about Dan," I heard Edward whisper. So he was talking to Dr Scott. "And what am I supposed to tell her?"   
I cleared my throat. “Tell me what?” I sounded croaky, much more than I expected. How long had I been out? I tried to sit up as much as possible. The room spun slightly, and the doctor handed Ed his files and came over to assist me. “Careful Maddy, easy. How are you feeling?”. He retrieved his pen light from his pocket and started a set of observations on me. I swiped away his hand. Everything felt like such an effort, and I was still struggling to remember anything that had happened. “Ed, tell me what?” I asked again. He was standing in the corner of the room, his back to me. His shoulders were slouched, hands in his pockets, head down. Still no response. Dr Scott pulled up another chair next to the bed. I assumed the one already there belonged to Ed. “There’s never an easy way to say this,” Dan began. As soon as he started to speak, Ed finally turned around and walked towards the bed. Instead of taking a seat in the chair, he gently scooted me over on the bed, and climbed in next to me. His hand found its way to my belly and he started to gently rub his thumb over it. Dr Scott cleared his throat, but before he had a chance to speak again, I jumped in. My heart was already in my throat, and I felt sick to my stomach. I had some recollection of earlier today, or yesterday, or last week, whenever I came in, in the emergency room. “What’s wrong with baby?” I asked, trying to even my voice. I could feel bile rising up my throat and the panic of being sick was making the nausea worse. “Maddy, darling,” Ed sounded older, “he was a fighter, our ba-, our son. But it was just too soon,” he trailed off, avoiding looking at me. I looked between the 2 men in front of me, and down at Eds hand on my belly. The silence was deafening. “It was a boy?” I managed, before vomiting all over the bed in front of me.  
"Oh god, I’m so sorry". The doctor patted my arm gently and pressed the nurses call button beside me. A middle aged nurse, short and stocky entered the room, and without saying a word, stripped the blankets off me carefully. Ed had managed to manoeuvre himself from beside me, and was now standing at the foot of the bed. The sorrow etched on his beautiful face was too much for me to bare, as the reality of the news hit me like a truck. I’d managed to fuck up the one and only job I had to do alone - bring our beautiful baby into the world. And a boy, at that. At 22 weeks, we had only just last week had the scan to determine the gender. I decided early on I didn’t want to know, and that I’d be happy either way. I just felt grateful for the opportunity to be a mother, a parent with Ed. He, on the other hand, could barely contain his excitement between us finding out we were expecting, and the time the gender scan rolled around. I’d sworn him to secrecy, and ensured he wouldn’t breath a word to me, or anyone else, until we would hear the first beautiful cry of life. I kicked off the remaining sheets, and ripped off the tape connecting the various needles and implements over my hand and arm. "Wait, stop, what are you doing?" Dan was by my side again, the nurse forced into the corner by the commotion. "I need to get out of here" I cried, hysterical. As my feet hit the floor, I was grateful to see I was now fully dressed, in black shorts and a purple top. I faltered a little bit, the room was spinning. Ed grabbed my arm, but as soon as I felt steady enough, I pushed him away. "DON’T TOUCH ME". I was screaming now. And I ran. Out of the room, down the corridor, stairs, more corridors. I was running blindly, unaware of where I was going. The further I ran, the less shouting I heard. I was obviously making good ground, or they’d stopped following me, although I doubt it was the latter. I stopped in the doorway of an almost hidden cleaning closet, trying to catch my breath. I was trying to determine which part of me hurt the most, but it was probably easier to figure out what didn’t hurt. I wrapped my arm protectively around my abdomen, and bit down on my lip to stop from crying out. My forehead was pressed against the cool cement wall. Tears were falling freely, but all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. I couldn’t stay here, I needed to get away. I could see the main entrance just up ahead. There were people everywhere. I couldn’t leave in the state I was in - that was sure to draw unwanted attention. And I needed to sit - the vertigo hadn’t subsided, and I felt weak. I stood up as best I could, and wiped my cheeks. I was barefoot, but didn’t really care. I narrowed my eyes on the automatic doors leading me to the outside world, and focused solely on making it from my current location to freedom. I took one last look behind me, and couldn’t notice anyone who appeared to be looking for me. I walked quickly but calmly, with purpose, until the warm air and sunlight hit my skin. There was a small fountain out the front of the hospital, with a short concrete surround, not too much further. I was almost limping now, and had gathered a few looks. Some of sympathy, because I obviously looked like shit. Others, mostly women, smiled warmly at me, their eyes spying my bump before they nodded knowingly. I reached out for the concrete edging hands first, as droplets of cool water from the fountain hit my face. I eased down, afraid of how bad it would be to sit. It sounded so loud - people, birds, cars, ambulances. Life seemed to be going on as normal. Was any of this even real, or was it all a bad dream? I’m sure any minute now Ed would be shaking me awake, grumbling sleepily about how annoying my night terrors were.   
"Mummy!" My head turned in the direction of the child’s voice, and I immediately saw a small boy, blond hair, green eyes, no more than 5 years old. He was balancing, rather precariously, on the fountains edge, arms out to stop himself from falling. The sick feeling found me again, and I swear my heart was going to beat out of my chest. I studied the boy - gorgeous, and so innocent. I could see his mother, arms outstretched, encouraging his last few steps. He practically fell into her arms and she pulled him close, congratulating him and kissing his forehead, earning a giggle from him. I’d never have that now. The pain in my chest from observing the scene in front of my eyes almost convinced me I was having a heart attack. How could this happen? Dr Scott had given us the all clear at our 12 week scan. We had resisted the urge to share the news prior to that, even with our families, for fear of miscarriage. Statistically, it happened most commonly in those precious early weeks. But everything had been going along so great.   
My knuckles were white from gripping the edge so hard, and I was hyperventilating. There was a black hole of emptiness settled in my chest and stomach, and I knew I was never going to be whole again.   
"Maddison!" I looked up to see Ed waving frantically at me from in front of the entrance, followed closely by a hospital staff member with a wheel chair. He jogged over to me, and knelt down to my eye level. "Are you ok, are you hurt? Jesus, don’t do that again." He sounded a little concerned, but more angry than anything. I just stared a him, not blinking. After a long pause, I spoke. "I lost our baby, and you’re mad at me for running out? How can you even stand to be around me?" I asked him, disgusted with both of us. It was then that he picked me up, hugging me hard. He held me like his own life depended on it, as if he was teetering on the edge of the world. "Don’t you dare ever blame yourself for this, I swear to god. You’re the most amazing, beautiful woman, and mother, in the world. And we will try again as soon as you feel ready." He whispered in my ear. I could feel his tears trickling down my cheek and neck. "We need to get you back to the ward now," the orderly commented, patting the wheel chair. But Ed didn’t want to let me go. He placed an arm across the back of my knees and carried me bridal style back inside. We were both still crying, and people moved aside to let us through. Dr Scott was waiting in the room still when we returned, along with some other people I didn’t recognise. "Set her down carefully, here." He commanded Ed. I didn’t resist when they started to hook me back up to the various machines, and check over me. "Why? Why us?" I whispered to Ed, barely audible. He shook his head, but said nothing. I’m not a religious person, but in that moment I was praying to every god and spiritual figure I could think of for some clarity.

Once I was settled again, we found ourselves alone for the first time. Ed was back in the bed with me, cradling me in his arms. We stayed like that for a while, the only sound the ticking clock on the wall. “I think we need to call home”, he said eventually. His voice was flat, void of any real emotion. He may as well have been reading the weather. There was stabbing in the black hole inside me now with the thought of having to face the outside world and having to break the news to everyone. I liked the security of the hospital, even though it represented everything that had occurred. We were left alone unless we needed something. Food appeared at the right times, and no one said anything when it was barely touched. We could just lay, and think, and breathe. If there was one thing I hated about it, it was the sympathy. Not many people actually said anything, but their faces said more than enough. “Not yet” I answered. He sighed. I was good at trying to avoid the inevitable. I liked safety, and he knew it. Ed kissed the top of my head and untangled our limbs. I rolled over and watched as he pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket. He had also managed to find fresh clothes somewhere along the line. He ran his hands over his face, and I could see his mind working a million miles an hour. He made his way back to the chair beside the bed, and held my hand as he waited for someone to pick up. “Mum?” he asked the person on the other end. “We need you.” He broke down in front of me, which in turn started me again. He pulled himself together enough to ask them to come to the hospital, reassuring them we were not in immediate danger, but not elaborating either. I squeezed his hand, my other rubbing gentle circles over my bump. Why, I’m not really sure. I felt like whilever I did, LJ was still with me. I wasn’t ready to face the reality just yet. I still had so many questions - there were large chunks missing from my memory. Ed rested his head on the edge of the bed once he’d hung up, sobs still heaving from his chest. As if my heart couldn’t break anymore, I watched helplessly as the love of my life broke down in front of me. There was never going to be a good time to ask what had happened, but I needed answers.  
"What happened? The last thing I remember is walking to the kitchen".  
Ed looked up at me, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. He was trying hard to pull himself together.   
"We were going to watch a movie, but you were thirsty. I wanted to go, but you insisted. ‘Im pregnant, not dying’ you laughed. I put the DVD in, and that’s when I heard a crashing sound. I called out to you, but you didn’t answer. I found you, on the floor, passed out. I’ve never been so scared, I thought you were gone" he choked back a few more sobs, and I realised how scared he must have been, and how alone he must have felt. "You came around, and I carried you to the shower. That’s when we noticed you were bleeding. Jesus, I didn’t think the ambulance was ever going to come. You were in and out of it the whole time, from shock more than anything, I think. You had the first con-contraction on the way to the hospital, and I knew then. Do you remember much from here?" Ed was looking at me now, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. Any logical thoughts or responses were evading me, and all I could think of was how it must have been for him.   
"Not really, a little I guess,"   
"Dr Scott was trying everything. They were pumping you full of drugs, trying to make it stop. And you were fighting, and so was LJ, and I just felt so hopeless. I thought I was going to lose you both" Ed kissed each one of my fingers entwined with his, and rested our hands against his cheek.   
"Did you-you know-, get to hold him?" I asked quietly. I remember saying no, not wanting to have to look at the damage I’d done. I wondered if I’d come to regret that decision. Ed nodded. "He was so tiny, and pink, and looked perfect. Small enough to fit in one hand. He looked like he was sleeping. He didn’t even cry. Just a few more weeks and it could have been different…" Ed trailed off, looking out the window. There were no words. I felt like I’d been punched hard, and was winded. This breathing thing had suddenly become a conscious chore. An alarm on the machine next to me started to sound, indicating there was not enough oxygen circulating around my body. And right then I wished I was dead. Why hadn’t I died too? Why was I allowed to live, when our precious son had been taken? A nurse I’d come to know as Lauren knocked lightly on the door and entered, coming to fix the beeping. "Madison, you need to breathe. Deep breaths, in and out," she encouraged. Ed stood and moved the hair out of my eyes, kissing the top of my head. "Baby, breathe. For me, please." He placed my hand over his heart, so I could feel the steady rhythm. It was another 5 minutes before Lauren was satisfied I was ok. Ed climbed back into the bed with me, and I wondered what I was supposed to tell his parents. They had both been ecstatic when we had told them, but especially Imogen. She’d been like my own mother since Ed and I had been together. I stayed a lot with Imogen and John in the last couple of months, while Ed had been away doing promo work. Imogen had even held my hair back when I was unwell with morning sickness, rubbing my back and telling me stories from when she was pregnant and Ed was a baby. It wasn’t just us who’d be touched by this. I knew his parents would be devastated too. I just hoped they’d find it in them to forgive me.

We heard them before we saw them. They were at the nurses station, asking to be directed to our room. Lauren poked her head in and asked if we were up for visitors. I nodded and sat up, smoothing my hair and the blankets around us. They walked in, hand-in-hand, eyes wide. Ed hadn’t told them much, and I wasn’t sure what they’d been expecting. I could tell his mum had been crying - Ed looked so much like her. They looked slightly relieved to see the scene in front of them - on the outside, we looked fine, no visible signs of trauma. John walked over to us first and enveloped us both in a big hug. Ed squeezed my hand as I started crying again. Imogen had made her way to the side of the bed with the chairs, and sat down, rubbing my leg gently. She stood up as John pulled away and hugged us both individually. She patted my belly gently, as she always did. It felt like a long time before we had a chance to speak, but I knew it had only been mere moments. Ed looked at me, waiting for me to give him the ok to say it. “We lost the baby,” he stated. I wondered how many more times we’d have to say that over the coming days, weeks and months. “Maddy, Ed, oh god.” His mum was crying. “We’re so sorry,” his dad’s voice broke as he hugged us again. And there we stood, or sat, all four of us crying and sobbing around the hospital bed for the lost life, hope, dreams of our precious boy. Time no longer had a meaning. I had no idea how long we’d been like that, huddled together before John led us in a short prayer. “Our father in heaven, I trust you had your reasons for taking back your angel. I pray you bring peace and clarity to our children as they navigate their way through the darkness, and pray you’ll light the way for them. Amen”. They stayed with us that night, in our room. I don’t think any of us really slept. “How are you feeling?” Ed whispered to me in what felt like the early hours of the morning. “Empty”. I didn’t need to elaborate - we both knew the double edged meaning of the word.  
There was a steady stream of gifts, flowers, phone calls and visitors over the next couple of days. I wanted to go home now, but they wanted to keep me in due the amount of blood I lost when I haemorrhaged . I didn’t even know half the people sending stuff, but it was comforting to know so many people cared for Ed, and for us. I looked around the room at all of the balloons and cards and flowers. So many beautiful colours, wasted on something so tragic. Ed and Stu were over by the door, no doubt changing arrangements in light of our situation. I’d tried to convince him I was fine, and to keep going, but he wouldn’t. And if I was honest, we both needed each other. “Can you make all this go away?” I asked, motioning to all clutter around me. They both looked up at me. It was more than I’d said in the days since it had happened. “Madz,” only Stu called me that, “you don’t really want that”.   
"Actually, I do" I snapped. I felt terrible. None of this was anyone’s fault. The counsellor had spoken to us about the 7 stages of grief, of which anger was one. "Better yet," I continued, "tell people to stop sending stuff. It’s not a fucking party." 

Home felt different when I was eventually discharged. The place was spotless, and there was only a single vase of fresh white roses on the kitchen bench. Imogen had been here, I knew it without even asking. But it all just felt empty. I wandered into the room that was intended as the nursery. Ed had insisted on us, mostly him, doing it all. There were paint samples littered around the walls, and the brand new American Oak cot was lent against the wardrobe, still in its box. Just by the door, there was a smaller box - a treasure trove really. Inside lay a photo of Ed, moments old in Imogen’s arms, as well as his christening outfit. Beside it lay the positive pregnancy test I had insisted on keeping. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands, just staring at it. Ed wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. I don’t think I was physically capable of crying anymore. “This isn’t how I imagined walking into this room after returning from the hospital,” I whispered to Ed. He nuzzled into my neck. “Me either.” That was the last time we stepped foot in the room.

Months passed in a blur. Some days were better than others. The nightmares became less frequent. Ed went back to the studio, although he still hadn’t left me for more than a single day. It was around the time of what would have been the 8th month mark when Ed suggested we have some sort of service. “Like a memorial,” he said, sitting cross legged in front of me. We were playing cards on the floor. “You want to celebrate the fact our baby died?” I asked, not looking up. “Maddison, you know that’s not what I meant. It’s just…with the due date coming up and all…I think it would be a nice way to remember him. And it might help.” I couldn’t argue with him. “You know this shouldn’t be possible right now,” I motioned to us set up on the floor, “I should be a whale on the couch, unable to move and complaining about swollen ankles and how much I hate you for making me fat!” Ed looked at me like I’d gone crazy, and maybe I had. I started to laugh. Really laugh. Ed joined in, hesitant at first. And then I cried. Our game was abandoned as Ed scooted over to me, wiping away my tears. “So what do you say?” He asked in reference to his earlier question. I looked down at my now near-flat stomach, and pushed it out, rubbing my hands over it. I exhaled. “Something small, just for family,” I replied, my hands knotted in my top. He brought my face up to meet his, and kissed me with a need I’d never felt before. Sometimes I forgot how hard this must be for him too.


End file.
